First Impressions
by Kameka
Summary: Sometimes first impressions aren’t wrong at all.


**Title**: First Impressions

**Author**: Kameka

**Rating**: G

**Disclaimers**: Severus Snape, Hogwarts, and whatever else I use from "Harry Potter" absolutely do not belong to me. No money is made… and you won't really get anything if you sue, so don't bother.

**Summary**: Sometimes first impressions aren't wrong at all.

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Severus Snape, Potion's Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, strode through the dark with purpose, his footsteps silent on the flagstone floor. His presence didn't bother the portraits as they slept on the walls, his black robe billowing out behind him in a signature move that he had spent quite a bit of time practicing on the behest of his parents. It was late, almost the witching hour, and the black-clad man was on his seemingly endless search for curfew breakers from three of the Houses at the school. There would be none from Slytherin, he knew, as he, as Head of Slytherin, had charmed alarms onto the entrances to the common room to alert him of any rule-breakers.

As he stalked the hallways, using the exercise as a way to unwind from having to deal with lazy, inattentive, imbecilic students and even worse homework essays, he sneered at some of the portraits' occupants as he thought about what had happened earlier that day. Every year, it seemed some student or another decided that they were the ones to thaw their professor's frozen heart.

He couldn't really be as bad as he pretended to be, they decided. Sure, his appearance _could_ use some work: pale skin sallow and black hair greasy from hours spent locked in his precious potions lab, hook-nosed from a combination of genetics and multiple breaks through the tumultuous hidden history of his past, teeth yellow and uneven beneath cruel lips. He was rumored to be a Vampire, something that amused the man though he refused to show it – at all, even to his colleagues.

But surely all of that was just an act. Someone as wonderful as Headmaster Albus Dumbledore would not hire a man, who was well and truly cruel, would he? So the lank-haired, much-feared individual must have some redeeming features that were well and truly hidden to casual observance.

Perhaps his parents had been cruel to him; he was Slytherin, after all, and therefore his parents were. Merlin knows that Slytherins aren't the most… tender of families. For all their imaginings, his father might have beat him, his mother ignored him.

He was rumored to carry the Dark Mark, the sign of the most feared dark wizard of the age branded onto his arm. Was he tortured through that sign of loyalty? Although, of course, this was refuted by the fact that Albus Dumbledore had hired him. He wouldn't hire anyone who was a Death Eater, anyone who could possibly harm any of the students.

Those who had the audacity to dig into his exceedingly private life would even wonder if part of what were wrong with him were merely that he, a half-blood, had been in Slytherin in the first place. Other muggleborns, the phrase most used, or mudbloods, the one preferred to by Slytherins, grew weary and upset of being demeaned nonstop by their Slytherin peers… imagine how much worse it would be if you were a part of that house and had no refuge against it.

Maybe he wasn't really cruel… he just had to act the way he did to impress upon his students that they had to follow all of the rules to the letter. Potions _was_, after all, a dangerous class involving a volatile mix of elements, not the least of which were the students themselves. He was just trying to keep them safe.

Severus Snape snorted, shaking his head and sneering again at the sleeping portraits as he passed them. He had heard all of the reasons as to why he might be the git he pretended to be, as year after year someone fancied themselves in love with him. Last year it had been a Ravenclaw, the year before a Hufflepuff. This year, again, it had been a Hufflepuff. A second year girl, this time, that he had sent running back to her common room in tears after his vitriolic dressing-down.

Personally, he attributed it to the Gryffindor tendencies that every house seemed to carry, except his own, off course. They just had to find the best in people, they had to analyze a person and see what made them tick. They had to look beneath what people show to the world, ignore their first impressions and instincts. They had to push their snotty little noses into things that didn't concern them one blasted bit.

It was enough to get them killed, something that, personally, Snape thought they deserved but that he had to prevent if he was within range because of that idiotic teachers code of conduct.

February was not a wonderful month for him. The dungeons were freezing, requiring him to spend quite a bit more energy on heating charms than he normally did, regardless of his heavy robes. The sniveling brats were cooped up inside, afraid of a little snow and wind, and there was even less peace for him during that month than any other month of the school year.

All in all, Severus Snape was not a happy man.

The muffled tread of footsteps caught his attention and he silently made his way toward them, hand gripping the solid dark wood of his wand as he waited for the opportune moment. As his senses sharpened even more, he was able to see the form of a lone Gryffindor making his way down the corridor, no doubt heading back up to his dorm from wherever he had been. Moving quickly, he went ahead of the young boy, waiting at the crossroads of the hallway. As the boy drew nearer, he lifted his wand and clearly intoned "Lumos," a small grin on his face quickly being replaced by his trademark sneer so quickly that the boy didn't notice as he stumbled and caught himself.

"Professor Snape! I…"

"You have disregarded curfew, Mr. Thomas. Do you consider yourself above the rules?"

"Ye-No, sir," the boy answered quickly.

"And yet you are breaking them as we speak. Twenty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Thomas, and a detention with Filch to be served tomorrow night."

"But."

"Shall I call him to escort you to your dorm, Mr. Thomas?"

"No, sir. Good night, sir."

Snape watched with satisfaction as the student hurried away from him and up the stairs, knowing that the boy would be going straight back to his dorm without any deviations. One side of his hard mouth curled up as he again thought of the folly of some of the students.

It wasn't the events in his sad, lonely, pain-filled past that made him treat people the way he did, he was just mean because he enjoyed being mean.

Sometimes, he mused, first impressions weren't wrong at all.

With that thought, he turned on his heel and continued his search for those who thought themselves above the rules. It was yet another night and there were more detentions and points to take away.

After all, a potion's master had to get his jollies somewhere.

The End

**Notes**: Er, ok.. My first Harry Potter fic. I hope it's okay? I watched the movies… once… and have read some fanfic. Strangely enough, given this story, I actually _like_ Snape. I guess it just fit him as he's portrayed. This is a response to a challenge to use the following sentence: "It wasn't the events in his sad, lonely, pain-filled past that made him treat people the way he did, he was just mean because he enjoyed being mean."


End file.
